


Heartbreak

by heytheremisterblue



Category: Half-Life
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Major Character Injury, Night Terrors, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Written Before Half-Life: Alyx
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:42:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23046466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heytheremisterblue/pseuds/heytheremisterblue
Summary: Barney hurts a lot more than he lets on. A fic that explores the physical toll on his body caused by the emotional trauma he carries with him.
Relationships: Barney Calhoun & Alyx Vance, Barney Calhoun & Gordon Freeman, Gordon Freeman & Alyx Vance
Comments: 5
Kudos: 99





	Heartbreak

The screams woke him again today. The sensation of his heart trying to burst through his chest was too familiar to him now, so as it beat against his ribs like a bass drum he hardly fret trying to catch his breath. As he lay between his sweaty sheets with a hand over his chest, the flashing images of bloody rebels began to fade. In a few minutes, he could get up and pretend it didn’t happen.

Despite the underground fortress’s ability to blot out the sun completely, he sensed it was morning. The radium-green numbers on the digital clock by his bed read 0552. Hey, three hours of sleep--that was a record for the week.

He squinted his eyes shut as his finger flicked the light switch up. Orange and red floated across his closed eyelids, and slowly, he opened them to expose himself to the flickering lightbulb overhead. Shooting pain seared his eyes and he snapped them back shut, hissing. The instant headache that radiated through his skull like a bad brain freeze was enough to make him want to curl back up in bed despite the terrors. That luxury escaped him this morning. He had work to do.

Years had gone by since he was able to take a long, hot shower, and yet every single time he stepped under the faucet at White Forest his entire body seized from the cold beads of water that barraged his skin like a sandblaster. It took several long moments for his nerves to adjust to the cold before his lungs were allowed to let go of their hitched breath. As the chilling water drenched his salt-and-pepper locks, seeping through to his scalp and trickling down to his tired shoulders, he shut his eyes and felt every droplet as they trailed downward to the tile floor. The reverberant dripping of a canal murmured into his ears over the sound of the rushing showerhead, and he reluctantly allowed himself to be consumed by the memory of barnacles spitting down the viscous red that was once a rebel. He’d watched the tongue of the horrible thing take her leg and bring her up to its mouth, and all he could do was scream as his shaking hands groped for shotgun shells.

He opened his eyes. Water fell and flickered off his eyelashes, but he bolted his gaze to the mildewy grout on the wall. Deadpan. Lucky to be alone and to not have to pretend to feel for the sake of his peers. Shuddering, he bit the sore on his cheek and closed his eyes to work the soap into his hair. The suds left trails on his skin as gravity led them to the ground, and he remarked that he could have fallen asleep there if the water was any bit warm. When his eyes shut this time, his memory greeted him with the image of a security guard off of whom he had plucked a spare kevlar vest. His ribs screamed with each movement as he shrugged the damaged one off his torso and replaced it. The guard died from one shot to the head. A painless death, he hoped. 

The rest of the shower was spent in the same fashion; closed eyes rendered flashbacks that triggered bumps on the nape of his neck while he scrubbed his body with soap. Stopping the water flow and reaching for his towel was a relief. 

A fresh change of clothes and a light breakfast awarded him an improved mood, and the smiles and greetings of passing rebels were simultaneously helpful and unhelpful. Under the skin his flesh craved to shrink into nothing and sleep the rest of existence away, sheltered from the constant palpitations, the shaking hands, the rising sense of doom, _always_ rising like a Shepard tone. He fought himself about the conflict between his desire to isolate and his knowledge that the strategy of detachment was unsustainable for his sanity. But attempts to connect proved worse for his state than staying away, so when rebels gave him polite grins and a _Good morning, Calhoun, how’s it going?_ it carved guilt into his chest. He felt like he was lying by functioning.

There was no choice in that matter, however--it was either function or be dead, and even though the latter sounded wildly appealing, it was treacherous. The only option that remained was to persist in the face of a downspiral and hope he landed softly when he reached rock bottom.

The world felt false around him as he walked down the corridor leading to his post. He had to tune deeply into each muscle to remind himself that he, and everything surrounding him, were real, and that the bloody skull of the man he’d accidentally beat too hard one day on the job was not. By the grace of whatever malevolent asshole was up in the sky, he’d been assigned to work with Alyx today. 

“Hey, Barn!” she welcomed in her usual chipper way. He knew exactly where to find her and he was, as usual, entirely correct. She was perched upside-down off a scaffold working on a stubborn piece of machinery in Kleiner, Mossman, and Gordon’s new teleport lab they’d set up at White Forest after the demise of both City 17 and Black Mesa East. In one fell swoop she set down her tools and climbed her way out of her contorted pose, landing on her feet like a cat. “You’re just in time. I’m almost finished here, and then we can go out.”

He nodded, hands on his hips as he observed her work. “Sounds good. Looks like you’ve made some good headway, huh?”

“You have no idea,” she responded as she removed a pair of old work gloves from her hands. “I think Dr. Kleiner’s going to be up and running tonight. I know he’s antsy to get to work.”

“Hah. Kleiner without a machine to mess with is like an alcoholic without booze.”

“Have you _seen_ Gordon recently?” she remarked. 

Barney laughed and shook his head. “He’s almost as bad as the old man.”

She reciprocated his laughter as she cleaned up after herself in the area, putting tools scattering the work surface neatly away for use later. “Why don’t you go load up the car and I’ll be out to the garage in a bit?”

“Roger that,” he confirmed with a nod of his head before turning on his heel to leave. Before he could, however, he was caught.

“Hey, Barney. You okay?”

“What?” He turned back around to look at her. The sudden concern in her voice pierced through his chest. “Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?”

She shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know. You seem tired.”

“Aren’t we all tired?” he chuckled. On the inside, he was withering. “You worry too much, Al.”

“I worry just the right amount, Calhoun. Now go load up.”

He smiled reassuringly, utilizing his trademarked suave he used far too much to cover for himself. “Ma’am, yes, ma’am,” he prodded with a salute.

He _was_ tired. He was so, so tired. More, in fact, than he had noticed this morning, which was a certain feat. The fatigue didn’t typically worm its way to the front of his attention until afternoon, a realization that left him feeling startled. He sucked in a full breath and felt his lungs stretch under the effort as he marched to the garage where the vehicles were kept. 

When he had cleared the visual of Alyx he allowed himself some leeway to sink into the exhaustion, muscles releasing tension and head slumping to the side on his neck. He rubbed a calloused palm over his brow, eyes snapped shut as he made an attempt to reconcile his energy. Once he reintroduced his eyes to the walls around him his vision swam mildly. Was it too much coffee, or perhaps not enough? A second cup might be a worthy endeavor before the two drove off to the countryside, he decided. There was a coffee maker in one of the common areas which shared a wing with the garage, perhaps he could sneak in and make a pot while Alyx checked off their final needs before departure. 

His eyes continued to betray him as he packed supplies into a case in the storage room. Ample ammunition was usually stocked on the cars already, so there was no need to bother with more for a day mission. He did, however, take the time to pack an emergency tent, rations, batteries, and the like into the trunk. Caution typically paid off in this climate. It became harder for him to catch his breath every time he lugged something bulky into the case, and a growing heat that flowed through his arm suggested to him that sleep deprivation may not have been the source of his state today. A gulp of air hitched in his throat and he lunged suddenly forward to catch the wall, his other hand clasping his chest as a clenching pain like a Charlie horse threatened to rip him apart.

His mind flipped through all the symptoms he could recall, and a realization hit him, a sweeping wrecking ball to his conscience. He was about to die.

“Help,” he strained, stumbling towards the door of the supply room. Heavy feet slammed under him as he struggled to keep himself upright, brow darkened tightly over his eyes in discomfort and terror. “Someone help me!”

Barney collapsed onto his knees at the door frame, losing grip on his strength and his vision with every second. The entire room around him danced and his stomach rolled inside as a high-pitched whine consumed his ears. A chill blanketed him, his skin slowly creeping with sweat. Everything was collapsing. This was rock bottom.

“Calhoun!” A voice called a distance away from his ringing ears. The concrete floor vibrated under the stomp of several boots running closer. “Christ, Barney, what’s wrong?”

“He’s having a heart attack. Run and get a doctor, _now!_ ”

One pair of feet took off in the opposite direction and he felt a hand reach down and touch his shoulder. His frantic eyes panned up to the face of a man he knew as Dixon. Dixon was in his thirties--only a child in the Seven Hour War. His wiry blonde hair curled around his head and his chin, and as his gray eyes gazed into Barney’s, he began to feel some semblance of relief. 

“You’re gonna be alright, Calhoun,” Dixon assured in his signature drawl. “We got you, you’re gonna be fine.”

\--------

Despite full consciousness through the entire experience, Barney, after being poked and prodded and forced into a paper gown, felt like he had been floating for the past twenty minutes. 

After being triaged on the scene by one of the doctors, he was quickly spirited away to the clinic where they proceeded to draw blood and hook him up to an electrocardiogram unit. Dr. Rangan, perfectly competent as she was, explained to him in great detail the tests they would be conducting and what the process would be moving forward. Instead of attempting to absorb her words, he allowed them to fade to the background and honed his focus on the tarnished brooch pinned to her lapel. A geometric mandala or flower of some sort, most likely once beautiful. It had gaps where the dingy silver showed under missing gems. He imagined it had come from a loved one a very long time ago.

“Mr. Calhoun?”

His attention snapped up to her inquisitive face. “Do you need me to repeat any of that?”

“Uh… no,” he responded with a tired rasp. “Thanks, Doc.”

“I’ll make sure to have someone bring you some proper pillows now that you’ll be staying the night. I’m a page away if you need anything.”

“‘Preciate it.” He gave a curt nod and waved as she walked off to see her next patient. 

A deep, deep sigh released from his sore chest. The aspirin and whatever else they had given him helped with the cramping, as well as easing some of his anxiety over the episode. He was still shaken. His head eased back onto the mattress, the bed propped in a slightly upright position, and he stared at the ceiling. Fluorescent lights, ancient vents, and plenty of concrete. Other admittees shuffled or coughed around him in the open area; the unfortunate reality of the pseudo-hospital they’d set up on this floor of the stronghold was that only the most critical patients got rooms to themselves. Noncritical gunshot wounds, broken bones, or, apparently, heart attacks, got thrown in the open clinic with everyone else.

That being said, the expansive room allowed him to see it immediately when Alyx and Gordon burst through the door leading to the stairs. 

“Barney!” cried Alyx as the two of them sped around people and obstacles as fast as they could to reach his bed. Upon her arrival she promptly grabbed his hand and held it tight in her own hands. “God, when I didn’t hear back from you I went to ask someone where you went, and…” Her face curled into a horrible figure as she began to cry. He used his free hand to pull her into him by her arm; she allowed herself to lean in as his arms wrapped around her back. “Oh, God, Barney…”

“Hey, hey, I’m okay, kid,” he murmured into her ear as her tears began to soak his gown. “Shhh. I’m fine.”

“Please don’t die on me,” she wept into his shoulder, enveloping him with her own arms.

He gave a dry chuckle. “I don’t plan on it.”

“What… what happened?” another voice chimed in anxiously. It was Gordon, who was hovering in his dirty lab coat as he wrung his hands over and over, looking him up and down in the bed in some attempt to process the situation.

Barney continued to hold Alyx as his attention panned to Gordon. “The doc says I had a heart attack,” he began, which pulled a shuddering breath out of Alyx. “They’re running tests, but I’m still here, ain’t I?”

Gordon’s face darkened with alarm. “Barney. Christ…”

“I know, I know. Worry about me all you want, buddy, it’s not gonna change anything.”

“Barney,” Alyx said, pushing away from his shoulder to look him in the eye. “You’re only forty-three, you’re way too young for this to happen.”

He had been ignoring the heart palpitations for months. He’d been ignoring the occasional shortness of breath, too. Being so prone to panic attacks left him numb to potentially dangerous symptoms, a situation of which he was finally realizing the gravity. What an idiot he was to push that down.

His face fell, he couldn’t keep this facade anymore. When his tired eyes met with Gordon’s again, and his hand reached out as a plea to his friend, the scientist was visibly shaken by the change in demeanor. “I feel like there’s something you’re not telling us,” he pressed.

And with that statement, Barney broke down.

With one of his hands in Gordon’s grip and the other in Alyx’s, he leaned back up to confront the ceiling, and a flood of tears cascaded from his eyes. “I’m tired,” he choked out. “I’m fuckin’ _tired_. I hardly sleep anymore. Every time I do, I just wake up from some horrible dream.”

His friends closed in on the bed and immediately laid hands on him; Gordon pressed a tender grip to his hair and stroked the graying locks. The smaller hands which belonged to Alyx came to rest on his muscle where his shoulder and collarbone met. Neither let go of Barney’s hands as he sobbed harder under their touch. He was reduced to a wallowing, sniveling mess as he trembled from the sheer force of his emotions bursting forth. He almost _died._ Before that, he thought he might have been indifferent to the idea, but the terror that flooded his body with the pain scared him down to his soul. 

“I feel,” he hyperventilated, “I f-feel like the world is collapsing around me, like-- like I can’t-- ever breathe. Every t-time I close my eyes, I just s-see… I see blood.”

“Alyx, can you ask a nurse if they can give him something to calm him down?” Gordon asked matter-of-factly, still not letting go of Barney in the slightest. She nodded across from him, eyes wide and full of worry, before departing from the bed to find someone. Gordon looked back down at his friend and continued to lightly comb through his hair.

Barney’s desperate eyes locked directly to his. “I’m so tired, Gord.”

“I know.” Tears began to well up at Gordon’s bottom lids. “I am, too. You’re not alone.”

“I’m not…?” he breathed.

“No. No, of course not. Alyx and I both, we…” the scientist trailed off, grasping carefully for words, and the tears forced their way over onto his cheeks. “Barney, why didn’t you tell us?”

All he could do was look away in shame. He used the hand still warm from Alyx’s touch to wipe his face, though it proved futile as more tears came to replace the ones he had rid from his skin. “I need to be strong for everyone, y’know?”

Gordon sunk down into a chair next to the bed in devastation. The expression on his face was enough to make Barney cower with guilt. He knew he was stupid for stuffing all his trauma down and away from the attention of others, and those sorrowful green eyes weren’t helping at all.

“Hey there, Mr. Calhoun,” a nurse greeted as he approached the bed. “We’re gonna give you some diazepam to help you feel a little calmer, alright?” Barney nodded gratefully, and the nurse took the IV tube and quickly brought the medication to his veins. “Let us know if you start feeling excessively drowsy or dizzy.”

“Thank you so much,” said Alyx, to which the nurse replied with a nod and then swiftly left. 

“We’re _always_ here for you, Barn,” Gordon said gently, still caressing his hair and holding his hand tight. “If I had any idea…”

“It’s not your fault. I didn’t want people to know.” He huffed. “Look how where that got me. The whole Resistance is gonna think I’m geriatric now.”

Alyx stole a chair from beside an empty bed and sat down. “Do you have any idea how many of us have PTSD?”

“Spare me the lecture, please.”

“Sorry, I’m not trying to lecture you. I’m just… trying to get you to understand you’re not alone. You’re not anywhere near alone. And the fact that you would think that, even for a second, kills me, Barney…”

His gaze descended to focus on their hands, all intertwined on the topsheet of the bed. He gave both of them a good squeeze, immediately reciprocated by each of his friends. In his peripheral, Gordon and Alyx looked at each other with an unspoken understanding.

“Here’s what’s going to happen now,” spoke Gordon. “We’re going to sit here with you until you’re released, no matter how long it is. And when you’re ready, you’re going to tell us everything. Deal?”

Barney stared at the man for an excruciatingly long time before he could muster any words. The sight of the two of them by his side overwhelmed him, and water continued to trickle down his face.

“I love you guys,” he finally said. “Thank you.”


End file.
